


Conspiracy Theories

by sandarenu



Category: Politics RPF
Genre: M/M, this is completely fictional
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-08
Updated: 2016-07-08
Packaged: 2018-07-22 08:29:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 590
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7427581
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sandarenu/pseuds/sandarenu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It seemed very difficult to rationalise the situation he was currently in.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Conspiracy Theories

**Author's Note:**

> Again, this is completely FICTIONAL

He's too busy for any intrusive thought to claim any space in his mind. He knows that. Being the most responsible man on earth came with the need to always be aware deeply of himself, to know his emotions and thoughts intimately and to be impeccable at partitioning them so that he could make sober judgements on issues that affected billions every day. He had no time to dedicate to himself fully, to consider anything naive or ill thought out or instinctive; something he hoped he could remember how to do when all this was over.

 

But Barack has a weakness for bleeding hearts.

 

He's really never been one. His nature of calmness and intellectualism had served him well in that. He got impatient but rarely showed it. He got angry but there had never been any place suitable for his anger; on his kind of face, in his kind of business. And when he was happy he was rarely buoyant; he was simply settled, like sitting down on a comfortable couch. And there had always been in him a hesitancy to live in the moment. He could light up the room with his smile but had learned from a young age that thinking things through really did make a difference. They made a difference to the way he felt about them. To appear aloof and above it all prevented him from the messiness of caring so much that it hurt.

 

It seemed very difficult to rationalise the situation he was currently in.

 

They would always remain private and incredibly brief, he knew that. Them together would be a manner of a few days, scattered across the last few months of his presidency. He'd been happy, so ecstatic, about finding a kindred spirit in what felt like a sea of old, angry conservatives and the never-ending barrage of dog whistling insults directed at him.

 

And now the two of them had gone and lived up to the right wing's most paranoid conspiracy theories.

 

They're in a closet at the presidential suite at the Ritz, coats and scarves around them, thousand dollar suits ruffled up, buttons torn and ties haphazard, flies hastily opened. Trying to find contact and release. Barack gets pushed against the back wall, the shaking hand of his companion stripping him to a climax.

 

The object of those paranoid conspiracy theories in question has got his tongue down the President's throat.

 

In five minutes, he thinks less than he has in a decade. Nothing about the Secret Service and RCMP agents right outside who knew exactly what was happening and would carry it to their graves. Nothing. His mind is so blank, only inundated by touch and pleasure and breathing. He feels so unworried that it scares him. He's not used to it, this loss of burden. he holds his breath and feels his heart start to hammer. _He_ senses it (Of course he does - jesus, he was pretty fucking perfect wasn't he?) and kisses more urgently, latches even fiercely onto his mouth and gathers Barack into strong, sinewy arms. Then Barack's falling into his knees and taking him in, and the conspiracy theory keens, all mussed up dark hair and perfect red lips and fast, shallow breaths. 

 

***

 

He’s at a press conference fifteen minutes later, suit replaced. Too late, he’d realised they had switched ties.

Barack thinks in some other life, they could have-

"Mr. President, how can the American people trust you if you still haven't-"

 

There really is no time to entertain any stray thought.


End file.
